Northblood
by ladyboltoninthetower
Summary: Extreme AU. Eddard leaves Sansa at Winterfell. She is caught by both Theon and Ramsay Bolton before being saved by team Dragonstone, and eventually groomed to take Melisandre's place. Extremely strong themes.
1. The Wedding

Davos stood stiffly at the altar, waiting. It was small, make shift, and wooden Gods he hardly knew anymore stood behind him. They were the old gods, the gods that belonged to the home of Lady Sansa Stark's youth. The small room was full of people: Lady Selyse, Lady Shireen… The Red Woman, among all of King Stannis' bannermen. Before this day, Davos had never been clothed finer: fresh leather, fresh linen, a silk shirt and new boots. He wore a cloak to put over his bride; grey, tough wool, light grey to match his field. A black ship sailed a grey sea, a white onion on the sail seemingly a joke to him these days.

These were not rags worthy enough for a Lady so high as Sansa.

Stannis entered the room, his arm pin tucked to Sansa's, and the walked quietly, slowly. It made his stomach churn: through a pale blue veil, one could see the enormous ruby around her neck; not quite the size of Melisandre's, but getting there. _To think, some months ago she looked into her flames and saw Tully eyes and Tully hair_, Davos thought bitterly.

The room hushed as she made her way up the aisle, stiff as Stannis though not as tall. Her dress was the colors of old and new snow; white and grey, little blue flowers cropping up from the train as it swayed with her walk. Never before had Davos seen his bride. Whispers grew as she met him at the altar; Davos pulled the veil away from her face.

Her low cut of her dress revealed the pink vines and flowers the bastard of Bolton had given her. He cleared his throat. "Lady Sansa," he said. The septon began speaking. "Lord Davos," she answered. Her jaw was set hard, and she ground her teeth as she waited to say the words. Davos held hard onto the breath caught in his throat; a raven sent from Cape Wrath had explained the death of his first wife. She had gotten very ill very quickly and not a soul knew how to calm her fever. His eyes glanced toward the Red Woman, whose face was as smug as ever, twisted and curling with a bitter grin. With their hands tied, they said the words because it would rouse Roose Bolton out of the North.

The patrons rose and out of the room they went, to attend a solemn feast in Sansa Seaworth's name. "I am very sorry this has happened to you," said Davos as they walked, Sansa's hand tight on his half-hand. "My lord, I have come to know worse circumstances."

"M'lady, do you mind if I give you an opinion?"

"My lord, you may do as you like."

Their stroll slowed, letting the chatter and the raised voices slink away. With neither Stannis nor Melisandre in their sights, Davos said: "We would not be wed if not for the death of my wife, which I believe the Red Woman had much to do with." He cleared his throat. Perhaps it sounded absurd to her, but Davos knew better. If there was some way to win anything at all, Melisandre would take it. Sansa's reply was slow.

"I am sorry for your loss, my lord. But, perhaps Lady Melisandre sees something in you that you do not see yourself. I have been chained for years in nothing but my small clothes, getting raped for flayed. I have no quarrel with our match."

There were knots in Davos' stomach. "I meant no offense," he said. Sansa looked at him seriously, with a glint in her eye older than her eighteen years. "You are soft, aren't you?"

"M'lady?"

"You believe with all your little old heart that we are not a worthy match."

"Aye."

"My lord, all my family is dead. I would rather be a Seaworth than nothing at all. Believe me or do not, but the wife of the fabled Onion Knight is better than any title I have gained as of yet."

Davos stifled a dark chuckle and resumed a faster pace. "I only mean that… I am sorry, m'lady, for the way things have gone for you."

Sansa's grip tightened around her husband's as they went down a flight of stairs, catching up with the party goers. Lady Melisandre waited at the landing. "Congratulations," she said, her voice hardly above the music and yet the most resounding. "How are you feeling, Lady Sansa?"

Sansa smiled, and Davos thanked for it silently. "Optimistic," she answered. If it was true or not, the woman would likely never explain. In the days of war, an incredible war with monsters in the north, Lady Northblood was a welcome sight in the area. "Lady Sansa," said Stannis with a nod. "Are you enjoying Dragonstone?" He was as stiff as a board. They must not have chatted long before their arms were entangled.

"It's fine enough." Sansa swallowed hard and maintained an eye on both Stannis and Melisandre as what little food they had passed across the tables. "I know it is not the grandest of weddings, Lady Sansa, but we've tried to do our best…," Stannis droned on. Davos saw the way he looked at her.

And then, a creeping suspicion wrapped itself around Davos' spine.

Melisandre had unleashed hell upon the Dreadfort to get Theon and Sansa out of its dungeons, but for what? His eyes raked the ground between Melisandre and his wife and this became true: Melisandre saw that her time in the service of Rh'llor was ending, and so another red woman would have to be groomed.

His eyes fell darkly upon Lady Shireen, who was in between eating, chatting with Lady Selyse and reading. The girl was always reading. _She_ taught him to read. She chewed slowly on bread and butter, sipping wine. She read, and when she did, her lips didn't move. That always amazed him.

"My lady wife will have to excuse me," Davos said, and let Sansa drop his arm. He strode toward Shireen and leaned over the table. "I'm afraid I may not be able to consort with you as oft as I have, m'lady." While the Baratheons made their way North to the Wall, he and his wife would be a bit farther south in a small winter castle erected for their marriage. Melisandre had somehow managed to convince Stannis that it was of grave importance that there was a smaller shelter for friends just some miles below the wall. There were plans made for three large rooms, a dining hall and one washroom, many rooms combined to preserve material.

It would be called Seaworth Hall and would be beside the sea southeast of Eastwatch, right near the water. There, Davos could go by sea or horse should he need to meet Stannis, without having to be far from his wife.

Unknown to Davos, there would also be a dungeon to hold Ramsay Bolton, Sansa's rapist and attempted murderer.


	2. How Lady Seaworth Wept

She watched the guards all dressed fine in the wedding or war attire. It seemed this day, there were both. Well aware of her stature in the minds of noble men, she knew this: her wedding was a blatant act of war. _The war, how it raged, burning and curdling all the noble men, their lesser folk_. When one guard approached her, she remained as calm as any lady could. "Lady Sansa," he said. He must have been a squire of some nature; he looked no older than seventeen, thin and sallow, with Lannister green eyes and blond hair.

She had seen a Lannister man once. She didn't remember where, but he was old and tall and thin and glorious in his stature, a sort of god like figure. She knew a Lannister when she saw one, though she felt nothing particularly toward him. "Hello," she said, not entirely sure what to call him. Perhaps he was a ward, a hostage…

"The Red Priestess would like to speak with you, my lady." Oh, yes, he was a fine speaker. "Take me to her," Sansa replied, lifting her hand. Her head craned toward her husband. "If my lord will be so kind to excuse me." She saw the way his eyes narrowed on the lad, the way his cheeks reddened with intention. Davos lost his tongue, but simply waved a hand. Sansa nodded her thanks and took the boy's hand.

Down one long, dark hall, up a foreign flight of stairs, down one more hall and taking another turn, there was an enormous wooden door. Red wood, smelling like fresh white paint. The paint wasn't thick enough; it turned the door pink by fire light. "She will be with you in one moment," the boy said, his voice shaking. This didn't frighten Sansa; there could be nothing worse in the world than the feel of a flaying knife and wormy lips against hers. The boy unlocked the door and let her inside, leaving the key on a table beside the opening. "Melisandre would like me to mention the wine on the table over there…"

The room was large and dark, lit dimly by a fire place and a fire pit on opposite walls. The stone was carved round like a cave; an opening exposed the great sea beyond. Sansa took a table and waited, her eyes watching the water as it rushed the great pointed rocks below. Perhaps, some years ago, she would have jumped. Dreams of different scenarios played in her head: a blond Lannister king, a blonde Lannister queen… And the tall, god like figure of the head of House Lannister. Eyes trailing across the floor, she stopped at the closed door.

She knew that boy's name was Joffrey, and it made her skin crawl.

Sansa stood and went to the window, waiting still for the Red Woman. If there was one thing she wanted to ask, it was about the dreams. She had always had them, watching King's Landing from afar, somehow knowing what would've happened if her lord father had not refused her pleading words. In her heart, she knew that leaving her in Winterfell was the only intelligent move he made as hand.

The creaked open. Melisandre held a torch close to her face. Her red eyes darted around the room, settling on Sansa's back. Melisandre made no attempt at speaking until she had hung the torch on the wall and was in relative proximity to the girl.

Sansa recalled how she had been hanging on the Bolton's cross, the last rose being ripped into her cheek and jaw. How Melisandre stormed in, wielding hands of fire and masked by shadows. Sansa knew now that very little emotion graced Melisandre's face but the way her mouth was pulled into a grotesque grimace… The image would never leave her.

No, no matter what Lord Davos said, Melisandre was not all bad. Perhaps the man was only going soft, daft, turning sweet in his old age.

Sansa turned ever so slightly, and she found she was a few inches taller than the woman, red from her head to her toes. _Red, terrible, and red_, some said.

"I do not understand why you would waste effort on me, Lady Melisandre," Sansa said. "I cannot say for sure if I would rather be grateful or smack you." She was discontented when the Red Woman smiled. She smiled with all her white little teeth, and she was as beautiful as she was terrifying. What little terror was felt in Melisandre's presence was overshadowed by an emotion brought on by the thought of never seeing Ramsay Snow again: Sansa had seen the way Melisandre's shadows had swallowed the man whole.

"Oh, sweet Sansa. There are many, many things we must discuss, and by the light of the Lord, you will understand. Let us have some wine before we rove further." Melisandre walked swiftly, surely on heels that echoed as she strode to pick up the flagon of wine, and two small glasses. "There are many things unknown regarding myself to those around me. I must tell you, as it is of major importance to your future. Or, futures, if you so decide."

Sansa's brows furrowed, a queer feeling racing up her spine as she took a glass from Melisandre's hand. Curiously, they were cold as ice. "What do you mean?" she whispered, the voice of a mouse breaking through the ocean waves crashing against the cliff side.

"Do you know much of the continent called Essos?" Melisandre replied.

"I do not, my lady."

"I was born there some hundred years ago; I was called Melony, and was sold to the Red Temple. There I learned my craft, and I have been preserved for _this_ day." And Sansa was afraid. Where thoughts had come and went, they were instead replaced with pins and needles. Old Nan had told stories of immortal men and women; they had lived in caves, far from the realms of average men. They killed and ate the souls of bad children. Now, Sansa was not so ignorant to believe Old Nan's stories, while some were pretty little things. "_This_ day?" Sansa repeated.

"Serving King Stannis, or whom I know him to be, has been my life's work, the only reason why I have lived in this world. In the flames I saw a woman, a woman who needed her vengeance realized. I am nearing the end of my service to King Stannis. I could have seen anyone, but I saw you. You, the kindness of your hardened soul and the desperation to survive. A little wolf girl, whose gods did not protect her. My Lord cannot always protect me, Lady Sansa. My hair goes grey and my eyes droop: I have lost not beauty, but vitality. Vanity is not in my nature, but the certainty that I had once carried is gone."

Sansa knew that Melisandre had much, much more to say, and she could only watch as the woman wetted her throat with the warm wine. "I know of your dreams," Melisandre said finally. Red hot surprise burned Sansa's cheeks. "I know this because my Lord knows this, and he showed me in the flames. You live two lives, knowing things before all those around you, knowing how difficult your life is now and could have been."

Melisandre's eyes glared into hers, and they gleamed like orange embers; the ruby on her neck beat with what Sansa suspected was her heart. "I… I…" Sansa stammered. "Shh, shh, sweet Sansa," Melisandre said, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, they had changed color, losing intensity.

"How do you feel?" Melisandre whispered, leaning close enough to kiss.

Sansa choked back a whimper, or something like it. "I… I _am_ grateful, Lady Melisandre."

"Tell me honestly. Do this one thing for me, Sansa. Tell me honestly: how do you feel about your life?" the Red Woman's full lips were pulled into a tight line; yet, Sansa couldn't summon the feeling that she was being threatened. Instead, it took all her strength not to fall to the floor a sobbing mess. Her eyes burned, and all she could smell was smoked wood, but it was because of the tears welling in her eyes.

"I… I have _never_ been of any great importance to anyone; I am too young to do as I please and yet I'm too old to be a child – there is no leverage for me to feel, there is no one with whom I can speak privately. Me? I have been made Ramsay… Ramsay Bolton's flower, a weak little thing, and I have seen the lives of many broken in much worse ways, and there was no hope in sight! And then you… You, the dastardly Red Woman of Dragonstone and the Realms of Darkness, you saved me when I would've rather died!" Sansa hadn't realized it, but she was rocking back and forth in her chair, her sentiments ripping through her cries.

Melisandre stiffened, though by most men's measure, she was relaxed. She cleared her throat, intending to say something, though nothing left her throat.

"I am married to a man I don't know; I am surrounded by those I've never known. I am the face of the solitary woman, and you _dare_ ask me how I _feel_ about my life?"


	3. The Death of Robert Baratheon

_Melisandre_

"How is the Stark girl?" Stannis said. He gripped a cup of water with a death grip as he sat with his back against a chair in the dining hall. They were the only two left in the entire place, Stannis and Melisandre. She thought a moment before she said, "Sansa Seaworth is… Complicated, but getting better. She smiled a bit after she wept aloud, and I take that as something."

"Yes, Lady Seaworth." Stannis nodded. His eyes narrowed on the fire that warmed that particular end of Dragonstone. "How is the building coming?"

Stannis sipped his water and looked up at the Red Woman. "I have a nagging feeling that this little home was not built just for Lady Seaworth."

"How do you expect me to get her to learn while Davos is away doing the Lord's work?"

"Will you motivate her with Ramsay Snow?"

"I will motivate Sansa with plenty, Ramsay among them. Besides, it will create an air of stability. She can sew her own curtains, light her own candles, bathe in her own bath. Perhaps she will carry a little lord with her. Her options are open these days."

There was silence in the hall then. "Why Sansa Stark? I understand it, I do. As the last heir of Winterfell, I do understand it. She's… She is not like you, Melisandre," Stannis said. He didn't look up from his feet.

"In time, she will be. In time, she will learn and earn the trust of both you and Davos, and I know in the long run, it will be easier to maintain a kingdom without treachery when all parties can trust in one another."

Stannis snorted. "You do not _need_ the trust of Davos Seaworth. _I_ need the trust of Davos Seaworth. I doubt murdering his first wife and forcing him to marry another is a way to keep that trust."

"Shh," was all Melisandre opted to reply.

"Not to mention, her case is strange. What did you call the girl?"

"I never called her anything; I merely said that she was living two lives. One whilst she was awake and the other at night, in her head as she slept."

"Has she talked to you about these dreams?"

"Of course not, yet. I just know that tomorrow she will wake up and know the Usurper will be dead."

"How is it my brother is not dead already?"

"Oh, he was long dead in her night life. I saw that much."

"Who was king after him?"

"Joffrey Hill."

"Cersei's bastard? How?"

"I doubt many knew of his status before he was crowned. And now he's a ward, Robert's last attempt at keeping peace."

"And to think, this entire war was started because Robert could not take the threat of the others seriously."

"Though more so because he would not dare admit he had no idea how to deal with the situation; he was far too preoccupied with the dragon girl across the sea."

"She's dead; he got his wish."

The fire in the fire place exploded, and far, far away, there was one deed done. Silence rang through the hall once more; King Robert Baratheon was dead, as was Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy… All that was left were the armies of Renly Baratheon and Stannis' own. "In a few days' time, you will find that you are the new king. Renly will fight for the right, but I think he will find himself singing of a different fate," Melisandre whispered.


	4. The Water Jetty

_Sansa_

She saw him there; felt the leather rubbing raw against her wrists and ankles. Her underwear was caught against the wood and the back of her knee. Ramsay carried with him a lantern. Theon was in the corner of the dungeon, quiet, watching with his eyes adapted to the darkness. Sansa knew Theon didn't know himself as Theon anymore; she had witnessed that much.

"There was a raven from a lord called Stannis," Ramsay began. Sansa bit her lip. _Oh, no_, she thought. _I will surely get the blade for this one_. She didn't say anything. "He said that I have two options: hand you and Theon over to him, or watch as the Dreadfort is laid to waste."

Her heart fell. She knew, time after time, that the Dreadfort was very near impenetrable. Stannis would fail. _Will he kill me_? Her head fell to the side and she wept. "My Lord," she cried out. Ramsay was kind to her in ways he was not to Theon; she _could_ cry out. The punishment was still the same regardless.

It was only when the bucket was set on the stone floor that she realized all he was carrying. He dipped a rag in something cool; Sansa wouldn't have put it passed him to light her on fire and walk away. Instead, it was water and soap. It smelled like lavender and something else; her senses had long been dulled by the stink of Ramsay's dungeons, and she couldn't place it.

"I doubt I will give you to him so quickly," Ramsay continued. The rag swept all over her skin and bones, over her wounds and dug deep into the soft flesh between her legs. His breath was hot on her neck; it smelled like alcohol, and strong at that. Maybe wine, maybe beer. Ramsay was hardly drunk the same way on either wine or beer; he just smelled worse with beer.

Sansa felt his eyes on her; they burned like coal, all the way down and back up again.

She awoke before her dreams took her truly back to the place of her misery. Leaning up from the feather mattress, Davos slept with his back to her, dressed still in his wedding attire, having gone to bed earlier than she. Feeling acid in her throat, she got up and swallowed down wine from the wedding feast; it was always conveniently close.

Davos snored, and it echoed around the room. _Our last day in Dragonstone_, she thought. Another flitted across her mind; perhaps Lady Shireen was awake. Maybe the girl was as much a night owl as she was. Did that dreadful Patchface keep her awake? Sansa bleated half a laugh: _I should not avoid grotesques, as I am one of them myself_.

Sansa slipped on warm wool socks and wrapped a robe around her, missing the way her husband's snoring had slowed, then quieted, and finally stopped all together. In no way had she expected for him to call out to her; that was something that only happened in plays, in stories, it only happened in the dreams she once had.

"M-m'lady Sansa," he said, the breath caught in his throat as he leaned up, pushing himself off the bed with one swift push of his arm. When Sansa turned, she saw the way his arm shook as it held him up. "Should you really call me that, considering that we're married, Davos?"

Davos licked his lips. He coughed a harsh sound. "Does it truly look like we're married? I'm an old man and you're just a girl. Anyway, where're you going?"

"I was going to see Shireen."

"The li'le lady's likely asleep now, m — Sansa. The only ghosts alive in this place may just be you, me, and the Red Woman."

"I cannot sleep, Davos. I need to do something."

Frankly put, Davos was _upset_. He knew there was nothing he could do. He couldn't give Sansa back her family, couldn't do anything about her future, beyond trying to stay alive and hope she found a younger suitor to better take care of the lands he would leave her. Apologies wouldn't help, as they never had. Deeds were what truly made a man, and Davos feared there were none he could do.

_What a foolish match_, he thought. He missed his wife, his real wife. He missed his sons and the rest of his dead – as he knew Sansa missed hers. "I'll put my boots on," he said finally. "Dress warm, and do it quickly."

They pulled on their clothes; Sansa's face was screwed in confusion, but she accepted his wedding cloak once more. She pulled on her leather boots and they walked arm and arm. "Where are we going?" she questioned. "We're going to take a trip around the island," Davos replied. The idea had struck him, and he figured their relationship couldn't get more strangled than it was.

It was a long, though untroubled, walk to the beach where a water jetty lay against the beach between two boulders pointed toward the purple rimmed morning sky. Black and grey clouds hung there on the horizon, threatening a storm.

"Let me take your cloak," he said as they reached it. "What?" Sansa said, though she began unclasping the button keeping it around her thin neck. "There's not much room… I thought I'd at least try to make an effort to have you comfortable," Davos mumbled in reply.

At the back of the jetty, he lines a circle for her to sit in with the cloak, and turns to his wife: "If it begins to rain, I want you to cover yourself. Gods forbid, I don't want you to get sick." Sansa smiled, though even she couldn't decide if it was genuine. For a man who could hardly read, he was quite eloquent at times. With his hand in hers, they stepped inside the jetty.

In one high tower, Sansa saw the black figure of a woman watching the water and the light of the fire behind her.

Relaxing in the nest made for her, Sansa rested her head on the back of the boat and watched as the stars passed between the clouds. The sun was on the verge of rising, just over the horizon, and its light began looming. Davos pushed the jetty of the beach and began rowing.

"Truth be told, I have faced worse," Davos said, overlooking the side of the boat, the ocean water as it rushed the old frame. Then, he looked at his wife and tried to smile. He tried to smile for all the times before he couldn't, for all the days he didn't think he would. Davos tried his best to maintain a calm exterior for her family as much as his own in the light of recent events: the hardest days were yet to come.

"Do you feel that we both should make an effort to have some sort of personable intimacy?" Sansa said. Her face was smooth, apart from the rose on the side of her face. Her eyes were red, though very white and the most incredible shade of blue. Davos didn't know which gods to curse: Melisandre's, or his own, or Sansa's for the fortune she'd been dealt.

His brow furrowed, as if it took a moment for her words to travel to him. "I am afraid I don't know what you mean, m – Sansa."

"We _are_ married, but what does that mean?"

It brought a shudder to him, the realization that what he had thought kindest may not be at all; he had expected they would hardly speak, hardly live together. Davos thought he would die war. There was still no telling, though he doubted he would die in his sleep. "I… Well, I suppose it means whatever you would like it to mean," he replied, his eyes to his own boots as he continued rowing.

When he raised his eyes, Sansa's lips were painted in a thin line, and one of her hands were white knuckling the side of the jetty. "I mean no offense."

"No, no, Davos, I know."

He focused on rowing, feeling crippled. He didn't know what to say. He knew she didn't know what to say either; their predicament was a rather laughable one. Only they both knew they were the punch lines to jokes only the gods told each other.

"What do you want me to say, Sansa?" Davos' voice didn't sound like his own, ruffled with highs and lows. "I'll do whatever you ask, because that's what two people can do for each other. Here we are, alone in the world, but then there's me and you. I can leave you alone, I can tell you I love you, but… but… I have no idea where I was going. I just, for a little while, need to believe again that some things _can_ be okay."

"Nothing is going to be alright, Davos – not until this war ends. Give Stannis the damn throne already, Robert, you are hardly half the figure he is; albeit he is awkward and stiff and unkindly to look upon. Still, I have heard that he _is_ good. Nothing is going to be fine until the day we or the… the _grotesques_ from the far north are wiped away from this land." Her exterior remained hard, Tully eyes looking up toward the clouds.

"As for our marriage… I am sure it will be a happy enough union, knowing what the both of us know – in life, we will lose all things we held dear. Then, we will pack up and move on. That's life; nothing like the songs...," she said, her voice quieting to a low whisper. "Nothing," she repeated, and then she began again: "Is that not… _humanity_, although? Banding together with what, _who_ you have left when all the rest has gone?"

Davos tried his best to follow. _Poor girl_, he thought more than once. "I think people can be that way, I suppose. From what I've seen, Sansa, it is not that way. We are together because it will help someone else." Sansa waved her hand.

"Yes, yes, that. What I mean is when there is nothing left for either side. When wars have fought themselves to the grave and neither side can handle another."

"Sansa, sweet girl, I don't think you understand how this system works. The throne is the first thing men fight for – it's like a disease everyone's itching to catch. They need it to validate them, they need it to raise them up, to… I don't know, I don't know, Sansa, but it won't ever stop."

Then, Sansa, the sweet girl from the north, she laughed. "No, Davos. What is needed is a leader that is respected just as much as he is aware. The people need a reason to like a ruler. I can give that to Stannis. House Stark… I believe I can help more than Melisandre thought she could. Yes, she does the dirty work, but… I can win over the hearts of them. Or I can die trying."

It took him by surprise. "Makes sense enough," he mumbled. "I figure if Stannis Baratheon can win over the daughter of the late Lord Eddard Stark, he might be a man worth listening to," she said. Out of the clouds, a shock of thunder rattled the sea; one by one, fat drops of water fell out of the sky.

"Sansa, girl, go ahead and get under the cloak," Davos said, as he began rowing again. He hadn't noticed that he stopped. She didn't move as the rain came down little by little, gradually falling at a good pace. "Shh, Davos," she said. Unpinning the hair net from her hair, tendrils of red fell down her shoulders and over the back of the jetty.

By this time the sun had raised some and was casting orange light above the horizon line; Davos thought it looked like the sky was aflame.

It was there in that rain storm, on that water jetty, beside her husband that Sansa gained some peace.


	5. The Great Trek Part I

_Davos_

Melisandre rode beside Stannis; Davos was on the other side. They made land fall some hours ago and were beginning their trip to Eastwatch. There were _miles and miles_ ahead of them; Davos looked around every now and again, making sure the great trek was real. There was one litter being ridden in. Shireen, Selyse, and Sansa were inside, toward the back, the far, far back, there was a barred litter holding Ramsay Snow, Theon Greyjoy, and Asha Greyjoy.

Balon Greyjoy had threatened rebellion when he found out that both of his children were taken into Stannis' camp. _He's always threatenin'_, thought Davos as they rode forward at a gentle pace of the litter directly behind them. It couldn't be taken seriously, not as Balon was growing older and becoming… decrepit.

Stannis took a deep breath and turned to Davos. "How was your little wife last night?" he said. For half a second, Davos' cheeks thought to redden, but he knew Stannis wouldn't ask something of that nature unless it had more innocent meaning. Still, Davos said, "M'king?"

Melisandre grinned but it was Stannis that spoke. "Did she speak of anything? Anything at all? Perhaps she spoke of Robert Baratheon?" A queer feeling enveloped Davos' intestines. "No, m'king, she only said that…" Davos fought to find his words. "Is there some reason you feel the need to ask about your brother?"

Stannis shook his head, but Davos' eyes glared him down. "Did she kill him?" Davos muttered, only loud enough for Stannis to hear. When Stannis' gaze turned forward, against the ground far in front of them, Davos had his answer. "My god, Stannis."

"Careful, Ser Onion Knight," Melisandre whispered. Davos sighed. "We will have to meet Renly in battle now, you understand that?" he said.

"We would have needed to anyway, Davos, do not misunderstand the way things happen," Melisandre said.

Davos was up to his neck in grief. He was beyond tired of this whole damn situation. By law, Stannis would take the crown. Renly won't be so kind to give it to the rightful kind, Davos knew. "With kings dropping like flies these days, one might think that the crown should be avoided at all costs," Melisandre continued. "Instead, in his very soul, Renly believes _he_ needs the throne, poor boy."

Davos raised his half hand. "No more… _blood magic_. None. I will go where ever you want if you just allow a man to kill Renly Baratheon."

"Davos, this is neither the time nor place to discuss freely the inner workings of the true crown," Stannis stated. "Do you honestly think that anyone cares? We're all followers of the Lord of Light here!" Davos answered, sick with frustration.

"Have you noticed a change of scenery, Ser Davos? Can you tell that we are not riding on stone floor but on grass and mud?" the Red Woman's voice was calm, relaxed. Davos grunted and pulled on the reigns of his horse. "I've had enough, m'king, I will be with the prisoners," Davos replied. Stannis said nothing to him, but Davos heard this said to Melisandre: "Your tongue is getting a little sharp, my lady. Perhaps you need to take a break from riding, to regather your thoughts."

Davos' brow furrowed as he looked back to the pair, unsure of what he heard. The look on Melisandre's face told him what was said was true to the ear. Then, Davos thought he heard, "I can give him that much." Fighting the urge to clench a fist in celebration, Davos thought, _one must pick and choose, and today I chose correctly_.

Renly Baratheon wouldn't die at the hand of a shadow, and that _did_ make him feel better.

Slowly, he turned his horse and rode beside the litter, and gave a gentle knock on the wire window. Shireen was beside it and she jumped as she heard him. "My lord," she said, a small laugh playing on her lips. "Morning, Lady Shireen. How is your mother, how is my wife?"

"I am well, Davos!" Sansa said. She sounded happier. _Good_, Davos thought. Then, came Lady Selyse's voice. "When will we stop, do you think, Davos? I forgot I must have a word with my lord."

"Lady Selyse, at this time we've only begun. I am sure Stannis will find us able to stop at night fall," Davos replied. "Might I be able to relay your message?"

"Later, Davos. It is of the utmost secrecy, unfortunately."

"Aye, alright, m'lady. Well, I'm off to see to the prisoners, I will be around shortly once more," he said, but then heard a surprised sound.

"Prisoners?"

The embarrassment hit him like an ice brick to the heart; he'd forgotten that the prisoners were of a rather secret nature to all three ladies. "Which one is asking?"

"Your wife, my lord," Sansa said. "Well, I have made a mistake, and for that I am very sorry, my lady. As your husband, I cannot tell you. As your friend, I will not tell you, and as hand of the king, my head would be his if I did." His voice was stern enough to cut through a man, but everyone knew he spoke that way because it was the truth.

"Well," Lady Selyse said, "Please, my lord Davos, be off. We shall try our best to forget this… Won't we, Lady Seaworth?"

Davos peered into the window; he could only look upon half of Sansa's face. She nodded solemnly; he knew she knew who was taken captive. She had already known that Theon would have been taken, but it was clear now he was not the only one.

"When we stop, my lord, please tell Lady Melisandre that I _must_ speak with her," Sansa said.

"I will," said Davos, and he pulled on the reigns once more, heading backward once more. Before him were leagues of bannermen; the barred litter was very far back, pulled by two horses and covered with burlap. He picked up his pace and raced toward it, passing all of the king's men. When he drew closer, he saw something sticking out of the side. Picking up the shroud, he saw pale white hands holding a sharp rock.

Davos grimaced and grabbed it from Ramsay's hands. "Who gave this to you?" That was the only explanation. Ramsay said nothing, instead opting to chuckle darkly. "A man can't fall and find something to grasp?"

"As if I believe that, bastard. Tell me, or I will go to _King_ Stannis," Davos said, enunciating every syllable. "I pretended to fall. I grabbed a rock, Onion Knight."

Davos grunted a condescending sound. "And just what were you planning to do with this rock, bastard?" he held it in his hand, touching the point with his thumb. There were no markings showing that it had been sharpened by anything other than common ground erosion. Still, Davos didn't believe the boy a second. He didn't see him fall.

"I was going to bludgeon the eyes of the first man that unchained me, obviously," Ramsay replied coolly. "Right. Well, you had best tell me who gave you this thing before I have a mind to slice you in half."

"_No one gave me the buggering rock_," Ramsay replied.

"Fine, fine. I'll be sure to stay here and keep an eye on you."


	6. The Great Trek Part II

**Thanks so much for reading and following! If you would be so kind to review, I would love you forever.**

–

"Well, that was strange of him, was it not?" said Lady Selyse. "It's Ramsay Bolton," Sansa whispered. Selyse put a skeletal hand on Sansa's shoulder. "What was that, my lady?"

"The man that gave me these scars," Sansa said a bit louder, a hand waving to her face, "He's the one I shouldn't know about." Selyse's eyes trailed around the litter as her back fell against the cushions. "I am sorry, Lady Sansa," she said. "I do not know how you feel."

"At least you will be able to do something about it; I mean, I know if you speak with my lord father – I believe he would let you deal with the man," Shireen whispered, knowing what she said may or may not have been true. "Especially if you speak with Lady Melisandre."

Sansa smiled at the child, unable to really say anything at all. Her's was a special case; there was a fifty-fifty chance that she would even see Ramsay Bolton again, let alone having permission to exact a revenge that burned her heart alive. Selyse cleared her throat.

"My Lady, what would you like to talk about? I know it would be better to change subjects," she said. "What do you think of Lady Melisandre?" Sansa asked her. Selyse's eyes widened not with surprise but thought. "The woman is many things, I admit, but her heart is pure. Do not listen to most of what Davos says, my lady, if you will allow me to say so. Davos… Davos is stuck in the old ways, biased by culture and blind to the light."

Sansa's smile turned to a pained grin. "I had not asked your opinion of my husband, Lady Selyse." Selyse's eyes fell out of recognition.

"My apologies, I had meant no offense, but the woman is best explained by the way others treat her, or their opinions. The Red Woman is secretive, no doubt, but I know she is holding the key to the only God worth believing in." Sansa nodded slowly. "Her way of doing things are far different from our own and… Many like Davos would prefer to wipe their hands clean of her."

"How do you know this God is not like the others?"

Selyse smiled at Sansa's question. "My lady, you will see it for yourself one of these days."


	7. The Howling and the Roaring Flames

**Please comment! Thank you. Trigger warning: Torture**

–

_Sansa_

All the king's men pulled dead trees together and threw them at the center. It was an enormous thing, and it looked like it could touch the amethyst painted sky. Flames licked upward tickling the stars. "Is there something I can get you, Lady Sansa?" one of them said. "Just some wine, thank you," she answered, tearing her eyes from the fire's intensity as she spoke.

Underneath her wedding cloak, a cool night wasn't so bad. Across the tower of logs and fire, Davos argued with the Red Woman. Her face was cool, unsurprised by his tone and the way he threw his hands around, but Sansa knew it was a question that came from his lips, not a statement. When Melisandre spoke, he listened. There was reassurance in his eyes.

Slowly they withdrew from conversation. Melisandre strode toward her, a long red dress swaying behind her, catching the fire, blending but not burning. A chill ran down Sansa's spine; it was only for a second that Melisandre's dress melded with the heat, but Sansa knew hers would've gone up.

"Lady Sansa," she said, her voice dark like smoked wine and half as sweet. A guard approached with Sansa's cup of wine. "Lady Melisandre, I apologize, I did not know you would be joining the lady tonight," he whispered meekly. He held the cup in his hand as if it were rude to hand it over to the girl in the Red Woman's presence. "Well, give it to her," said Melisandre. "I will not be indulging at this time."

Taking the cup from him, Sansa took a sip and looked at the ground. "What was my lord asking?"

"Oh, something about what we were to talk about. We still have plenty to talk about, I know."

"Such as?"

"The importance of a son… The craft…. Many things, Lady Sansa."

"What if I never have a son?"

"You've had one, I know."

Sansa grimaced. "_Pardon_?" she whispered.

"Braedon Snow, you called him. Though you never told anyone his name." Sadness swept over Sansa. "I… Would prefer not to talk about him."

"Painful things lead to powerful lessons, my lady…," Melisandre began, though she stopped speaking. She didn't know how Sansa felt. Once one was with the Lord of Light, some womanly things weren't possible. One of them is having children. Melisandre didn't mind bastards; in Essos, the birth status mattered much less. All that did matter was slave or master. Or priest, but a priest may as well be a slave on their own.

"He would have turned out to be a horror, my lady, and for that I'm sorry."

"You do not know that, Melisandre. All you know is his name."

"You are right, Sansa. I cannot possibly know anything about the blood in a man. At least this time you are wed, and wed to a good one."

"I hear neither one of you like much about each other."

"You heard correctly, but that hardly means I have not eyes in my skull. The skin around them is old, getting more leathery by the day, but my sight is as sharp as ever, Sansa, as I am sure you know."

"How did you know about my son?" Sansa took a ragged gulp of wine and looked once more to the stars above her.

"I saw him, in the fire… the same way I saw you… the same way I saw Stannis; the list goes on." Melisandre wrapped her arms around herself. Her eyes followed a particularly thin vine down Sansa's neck. "Forgive me, my lady, but I believe Ramsay Snow loved you."

"Bolton," she stated. "It is Bolton, and he never let me forget how much he _loved_ me."

"I mean, my lady, if you'll forgive me once more, that in his own way, he did genuinely love you. Why else would he allow you to keep your fingers, your toes, your teeth?"

"Please stop," Sansa muttered. "Your requests for forgiveness are hollow."

"Do you remember how he felt against you? The way his knife felt?"

"Stop."

"What did it feel like birthing his bastard?"

Sansa stood. She reared back her arm. Sansa smacked the Red Woman to the ground. The sound echoed across the entire field, and everyone turned. "I asked you to stop, and you _dare_ taunt me?" Sansa yelled. Then, there was silence, terrible silence. Melisandre pressed a hand to her face, but instead of looking appalled, she smiled. "Beautiful," she whispered to herself, but Sansa heard it. Sansa's eyes fell to the ground as Stannis strolled over, his eyes crinkled at the edges, feet of crows flaring.

"No, my king," Melisandre said to him, and he looked at her before offering a hand. "The Stark girl laid a hand–" Melisandre raises a finger to his mouth. "Lady _Seaworth_, she did nothing of the sort." And Melisandre turned to her. Sansa breathed hard, confused by the entire situation. "Sansa, sweet girl, come with me," said the Red Woman as she lent her arm. "I have something for you."

Sansa took her arm and they began walking. "What is happening?" she breathed.

"Your vengeance, for as long as it slept, will wake this night, Lady Sansa," Melisandre answered, leaning close to the girl's ear. Sansa's heart threatened to leap out of her chest. "Fire, blade, or…?" she continued.

Sansa didn't dare. This was a dream. This was something that only the stories spoke of, and… She could feel fear welling up in her heart. "_What is happening_?" she whispered.

"I told you already, Sansa."

They passed through a crowd. "Hey!" someone yelled. Sansa turned, but Melisandre kept pulling her. As they drew closer to the suspect location, Sansa heard string instruments playing a slow, romantic song. Davos was walking quickly toward the pair, pushing through the herd of men. "Wai' a minute!"

Melisandre kept pulling her along, and the fear grew the closer Davos got to them. The look on his face, the strange mix of worry and grief, it terrified her. "Stop, please, please stop," she said, pulling as hard as she dared on Melisandre's arm. Finally, Davos caught up to them, and the drums began. "What _are _ you doing?" Davos asked Melisandre. She clenched her eyes shut before opening them wide and glaring at the man.

"Can you not see it, Onion Knight?"

"See _what_?"

"Look upon your wife's face and tell me what you spy."

"I see a pretty little girl that should be in _no way_ involved in your schemes," Davos answered. Melisandre pursed her old wrinkled face. A strip of white hair fell into her eyes. "You are wrong, Ser Davos. Look again, and look harder." Davos breathed hard, returning the glare Melisandre gave him. Slowly, slowly, his eyes found Sansa's.

Tired, bluish bags under her eyes. Pallid skin, hints of red and pink from days waging a war against one man. The rose, the way its stem wrapped around her throat, and his eyes fell upon the wedding cloak. Davos turned back to Melisandre, angry, but able to understand.

"I just don't wish something upon her that canno' be undone. It takes a lot," he said. His voice fell to a sort of whimper, the only kind that came from knowing the sad truth about the world. It was hard to escape killing a man anymore, and even more rare to deal with it exceptionally well. "I don't want her to… I… I don't know."

Sansa, finally understanding, catching on, as slow as she felt, she strode forward and pressed a hand to her husband's face. Her other hand grabbed his. Davos leaned into her hand, feeling the pressure of her soft hand. Their intertwined hands squeezed and relaxed. With a hand wrapping around his neck, Sansa brought his cheek her lips and held him there. "There is nothing to fear, my lord. I should not say that I am looking forward to what will happen tonight, but I am. I will come back to you better. Freed from the chains of my oppressor. Oh, how I love you," she whispered, kissing his cheek. She pulled away slightly, and pecked his lips.

Davos didn't do anything; he simply couldn't. He stood there a surprised fool, watching her join arms with the Red Woman once more.

"Open the litter, if you would be so kind," Melisandre stated as they neared it. The burlap curtain was lifted. Theon and Asha had been asleep next to each other, but there was something more than alive in Ramsay's eyes. For half a second she wanted to run, but she kept her head high and continued walking. "Get the bastard out, and hand over a blade of some nature," Melisandre stated once more. Daggers and swords were ripped from their sheathes.

A guard unlocked the door, and it groaned as it swung lazily open. "Stand, boy," the same guard growled as he yanked on Ramsay's arm and hair. The bastard half stood as he was pulled from the barred litter. He began laughing, maniac laughing. "I did not think I would ever see _you_ again," he said. Melisandre turned to watch Sansa's face as she took a man's dagger. "Unchain him, hold his arms out," she said, her voice breaking.

With Ramsay's arms out, she looked at him. Never once did she say a word, holding the dagger in a clenched fist. Her heart pumped, but the color had long disappeared from her face.

Then, Sansa sheared off his clothes, and Ramsay stood before her naked. She took the dagger's edge, teasing it up and down Ramsay's cock. His eyes stared into hers. He only made a sound when she ripped that blade across his base, yanking his manhood away from him and throwing it in the mud. _How_ Ramsay screamed; he screamed until his mouth ran dry, and the sound shuddered to an unwilling stop. He watched his blood ripple down his shaking legs and onto the grass below.

No one else made a sound. Even the music had stopped, and for no particular reason at all, they were all watching the bastard bleed.

Sansa learned a simple truth in her time with Ramsay; she knew exactly what organs to avoid to keep the subject living. She would watch him burn before the night was through, and he would be very alive. "Does someone have a torch they're not using?" she asked.

Three bannermen raced forward with their burning sticks. "She will be needing a sword and a volunteer," said Melisandre, privy to the girl's desires.

Sansa turned to the Red Woman. "Would you join me, Lady Melisandre?" she asked. Melisandre took the torch and nodded Sansa forward. She dropped the dagger in the mud and took hold of a small sword; _beautiful_, Sansa thought, feeling the weight in her hands. The men holding Ramsay's arm pulled him taught and looked forward, blind to the entire ordeal.

This, too, was a blatant act of war. And it was well earned. She grunted. The sword rose above her head, and it came down hard on Ramsay's shoulder; it got stuck in the joint. The sword rose again, and this time the limb ripped away with ease.

Sansa was deaf to his screams, but not another soul was. Ramsay coughed and he screamed, cursing and spitting, pleading. The Red Woman obliged him with the torch; Ramsay would not bleed out so soon. On the other end of the field, another fire was being built, an opening in the side wide enough for a man.

Ramsay's other arm was taken from him in one sweep of the blade, and he fell.

Picking up the dagger, Sansa took his eyes. She dug the wickedly sharp edge in just enough to see the blood seep out, and then she took his tongue. Finally, finally, she breathed.

But, she didn't laugh at him the way he did. She said nothing to him, periodically listening to his screams as they shuddered to a close. Two men dragged him to the fire pit and stood him up, shoving him inside his coffin.

Soon, that flame was lit, and the music began again, but didn't bother to overshadow his screams as he howled into the long night.


	8. Castle of the Rising Sun

_Davos_

The Red Woman didn't let him see his wife. The nights passed, the days rolled on, and soon, they drew ever closer to Seaworth Hall. It was a two month ride, though it felt like much less after that first night. Davos knew when he looked Sansa in the face that Ramsay deserved exactly what he got, though by the look of the Greyjoy boy, he could've taken a little more. _If only there was some way to keep a man alive in pieces_, he thought, leaning hard on his horse, half asleep.

He was restless, ready to sleep in a bed instead of a roll on the ground, or on a hay mattress in a tent. As the unrest in his head grew, he woke and looked upon the bannermen. Stannis sat full straight on his horse, and it trotted gingerly in the morning light. Melisandre coughed into a rag. It disturbed him to see her this way, even if there was no emotion between them – this was a woman who had swallowed poison and watched the other man die after he'd swallowed his in an attempt to murder her.

Upward, there was a Bad Moon in the sky; they occurred only once every so often. In his life, this was his second, and it twisted him into knots to look at it, but there was no looking away from a Bad Moon. They were large, almost disproportionate with the sky. Davos knew that no ship could survive a Bad Moon, and he said a silent prayer for the men at sea, though he felt it would do no good.

_Any sailor that can't fathom the hardships boys and men will face by water tonight, they are not worth the effort_, he recounted. Someone had told him that when he was much, much younger.

Bad Moons bring other things, bearings of bad news. In the night as they rode, making up for lost time, his eyes grew wide as he recognized this was no party that needed to be attacked, despite their large numbers. What could be lost would be too much for Davos' heart to bear.

"Stannis, we need to pick up our pace," Davos stated, looking forward in the dark night. A fog was settling around them in the strangest formation. While Davos wouldn't admit that he was terrified, his old heart raced and sweat collected at his collar. Stannis said nothing as he turned; his eyes met the sea. The water threatened to take the land, and for half a second, Stannis believed he could see something coming from the water. "Superstition," was all Stannis muttered.

"I would disagree, Stannis," said Melisandre. "There is a foreboding moon this night; perhaps it would be best to listen to your hand." A grim look came over Stannis' face yet he shouted, "Faster now!" and tore forward, whipping the reigns as hard as he dared. Davos took a breath and thanked any god that could hear him. "I must check on the ladies," he said. Neither Stannis nor Melisandre said a word, and so he turned, going against the grain to meet the litter.

Its wheels were beginning to squeal. There were whispers coming from inside. Davos knocked his half hand on the wire window and it opened. "What's going on?" Selyse asked, her dark eyes wide as she looked at the man. "Only picking up the pace, my lady. The king and I agreed to do so," he said, not wanting to worry them. He turned to one of the bannermen closest to the litter. "Have you got any oil, boy? If they are not greased oft, the wheel may come off," he said.

"Aye," the man said, and he reached back to reach a pouch toward his horse's rump. He tossed a tin dripper to Davos after he spit some on the right front wheel. Davos leaned down to oil the back tire; he looked up for half a second to see Sansa's face. Every second or so her terror became more evident before she smoothed her features in a ragged attempt to remain brave; somehow, Davos knew that Sansa must be thinking the same thing as him.

Then came the screams. Davos' eyes ripped forward, threatening to burst out of his skull. Horses and men toppled and fell over themselves trying to avoid a woman in the way. Then, Davos saw it. Saw _him_. Stannis, impaled on the woman's blade as it shimmered in the light of the Bad Moon. Stannis' body was hanging above her head, his horse still underneath him. The horse fell there, and several hundred bannermen trampled one another to get away. The woman withdrew her sword and plunged it in once more, twisting with guiltless grace.

Men came from the woods, and despite the monstrous calamity, Davos heard the tinkling of jester's bells.

Davos turned to the litter and pulled open the door, knowing it would not survive the crash ahead of them. "You!" he shouted to one of the bannermen as he was greatly trying to change his course. "You, you take Lady Selyse," he growled.

Leaning into the litter, Davos grabbed for Sansa, pulled her from the litter and forcing her onto the back of the horse stomach first. Then came Lady Shireen, whom took the small space behind him. "Shut your eyes, child," he said. Shireen whimpered but did as she was told.

Lady Selyse was plucked from the litter a short time later. They made for the beach, passing the mountain of men just as the litter sailed in; wood splintered the men dead and the woman was gone. Sansa righted herself and they drew closer to the site of the king's body. The blade was still there.

"Go, keep going, I will do my work," Melisandre shouted, surrounding the area with her horse. Her eyes were on fire, and all could see the rage as it swam through her veins.

By now the men were slowing and able to avoid collision. "Melisandre," Davos shouted, "You had best save him!"

Her pale white skin shriveled into a half-smile. "Azor Ahai does not need saving. He only needs a nudge."

Davos and the remaining men rode to Seaworth Hall, full speed and running as if devils were chasing them. As far as anyone was concerned, _devils_ were.

The sun rose over Seaworth Hall and painted the white structure with orange light; Davos cursed the Bad Moon as his own set of bannermen lowered a flood gate over the expansive moat dug to keep the devils outside at bay.


	9. Raven's Word

_Davos_

He wouldn't sleep; he believed King Stannis dead. Davos had seen a sword rip the man nearly in half, and he could've sworn he heard all his life's work screaming as it died. All for naught. Still, Davos waited. He sweat through the morning, the afternoon, and he waited still, watching the sun as it set over the sea. _This is it_; Davos had thought time after time, _this is the day all good men die_. Sansa and Shireen had busied themselves in the kitchen with the kitchen staff, an older, fat woman named Lydda, who would go home soon. He knew then it would be time to contend with the truth, though he didn't know how he could tell his wife and his… his niece.

Lydda's hair was dark, and though her eyes were tired, Davos knew the woman wasn't much older than him, if she was even near his age at all. Lowborn women always seemed to age faster than anyone, and they died earlier as well. When she came out of the kitchen, saying, "M'lord, your food is on the table in the second room. Bes' get eatin' then."

Davos could imagine what Stannis would say if he found that his staff had decided to speak without being spoken to. Then, Davos decided this was a different seat, a different hold, and a very different lord. "My thanks," he answered, and he heard outside that the bridge was lowered and preparing for her exit. Lydda stopped. "M'lady Sansa has requested that I teach her to cook and clean," she said, her voice awkward, a kind of common fear slipping between thin old lips.

"Aye… Well, see to it that she learns," Davos said, his brow lifted in confusion. Still, Lydda maintained her position in the front hall. "Also, m'lord, she kept callin' me lady." Davos wanted to laugh. "If that offends you, Lydda, I suspect it wouldn't hurt to tell her you don' like it."

"I's only weird, that's all. Well, I'll be off now," she said, and she nodded. Davos saw her out and watched her cross the bridge. Her home was just over two hills. "Wai', Lydda," Davos called. He pointed to a boy holding the yard beside the bridge. "Take her home, boy."

The roads were dangerous, too dangerous for anyone to walk alone these days, and he almost felt foolish for allowing her to leave without an escort.

Shutting the big wooden doors, he went back inside. Sansa, Shireen, and Selyse were seated at the table, waiting for him. "My apologies, my ladies," he said, sitting down… at the head of the table. It sent a chill down his neck, but he still sat. "I hear, Lady Sansa, that you've asked Lydda to teach you how to clean and cook," he said, picking up his fork like a shovel. Stew and bread, grilled cabbage and crispy fried green beans were piled high onto his plate; he hadn't eaten so well in a very, very long time.

"At first, the request was hollow, and then… Something happened. I cannot say for sure what, but the woman grew on me," Sansa replied, her fingers delicately holding her spoon as she ate her stew. "Talk about it," Davos said, eyeing Selyse and Shireen as they ate with their eyes in their plates. Talking to Sansa was all he could do not to fret about Stannis and the horror of the morning. How Selyse wasn't ripping out her hair and how Shireen remained calm, Davos couldn't fathom. "Lydda and her husband have been trying to have children for the last ten years," Sansa replied.

"There is an orphanage near the village," Selyse said, looking up from her hardly eaten meal. Sansa swallowed and took a drink. "Lydda's husband has been out of work for sometime; he would have been killed had we not taken these lands," Sansa replied. "They have no money."

There came a yell from the front room: "Lord Davos!" Without hesitation he got up, unknowing of what he should expect. "Excuse me, my ladies," he said, and cleaned the corners of his mouth with the sleeve of his green cotton shirt; down the hall he went. In front of the great door, there was a boy, the boy that had taken Lydda home.

"There is a man outside, begging entrance. They call him Thoros," the boy said, but Davos was weary. "Did he say why he was here?"

"All he said was that he and his party comes peacefully."

"That won' do, boy. I will meet the party on the balcony, but do not loose that bridge," Davos stated, making his way up the tower's stairs, and exited into the open night. His men held steady, far enough away from the edge not to be seen. Over looking the yard, Davos looked them over.

In the front of several men stood a man in boiled leather. The man's grey hair was piled high on his head; he wore red robes underneath his leather. "State your names," he yelled. "Thoros of Myr."

"All of your names."

"The Brave Companions and the Brotherhood Without Banners ride together on this night, my lord," Thoros replied. "Who is the woman?" Davos replied, seeing the dark cloak that brought up memories of the morning. She held a blade, clasped between pallid, shaking hands. Thoros looked at the woman for half a moment. "The leader of the brotherhood."

"_What is her name_?" Davos shouted.

Thoros coughed a sound like a dark laugh. "She goes by many names, my lord."

"Humor me," Davos continued.

"Catelyn Tully, Cat Stark, Lady Stoneheart, Mother Merciless, the list goes on," Thoros stated, his tone fixed with annoyance. Davos lost his breath.

"My men will lower the bridge, but only for you at this time," Davos said, nodding at an older knight who began to unwind the iron chains. He pointed to the boy, and said, "Bring him up here. _Do not_ allow him into the dining hall."

In a short moment, Thoros joined him. The man said nothing as he walked toward Davos, and Davos had no idea what he _could_ say. First, he was terrified by the named woman – "I-is she really Cat Stark?" Davos stuttered as Thoros drew closer. "Yes," he replied. "Found by Beric Dondarrion, revived bathed in the light of my god." Davos glanced again at the cloaked woman.

"The Lord of Light?" said Davos, looking closer at the man and finding he smelled nearly the same as Melisandre; like fire wood burned late into the morning hours. Thoros nodded. "Did Lady Melisandre tell you to come here?"

"No, my lord. We are a party searching for… _Freys_," Thoros maintained. "Several have left the crossing in an attempt to create a house of their own after the death of the King in the North." Davos heard a cough rattle the bones of Lady Stark… or Lady Stoneheart, as it were. Sadness and surprise cloaked him, though there was stiffness in his demeanor.

Davos snorted. "Why would they do that?"

"Because one Frey, Lecker Frey, he wasn't keen on the idea of being massacred by my lady," he answered. "Alas, they tear through the land, raping and pillaging for all their worth and they only beg to be killed. They were last seen somewhere up here."

"We've seen no Freys up here, m'lord," Davos replied. His heart thumped him half to death; _was it really true? Two Starks so close together?_

"You will."

From the ground, a woman underneath a dark cloak rolled forward, her horse holding a cart. She lifted her hood. "Lord Davos, allow us entry," Melisandre said. "These are friends, but I must assert that you must hide away your wife."

Davos grunted and went down the tower. "Let them in," he shouted. Confusion was beyond him; what was now settling in his heart was a nagging annoyance. Finding his way into the dining hall, the meal had been finished without him. "My Lady, please go to your chambers. I won' allow these visitors to see you."

Sansa's lips pursed, but she made her way to their room.

"Excuse the lack of… things, this hall was just built and we have only settled on the morning," Davos said, watching them clamor in. In his head, Davos didn't know how to refer to Sansa's mother, the woman cloaked all in black, her blade's edge touching the stone floor as she walked slowly. She took off her hood and revealed a most unnatural face; pecked at my birds, bloated as if she'd slept in the sea. The slit throat deterred him from breathing for several moments.

Never once had Davos expected to see the walk of a corpse as it sat in a dining chair.

"Help me take him below," Melisandre said, and three men lifted a burlap cover to reveal Stannis' bloodied body. Limp and white, Stannis' eyes were open and staring forward, not seeing anything. They carried the king down, down, down, and then there were only some men. "We will do the same with your king," Thoros said.

"B-but," Davos began. "He's dead."

"He will not be for long."

"Forgive me, but a corpse canno' see to a kingdom."

"Stannis will not be a corpse, my lord. Do you fear he will be like my lady? No, no, this is a different sort. Stannis will be as he was," Thoros replied. "If not better."

Davos shook with something. Whether it was anger or terror, he didn't know. "Do you know who killed him?" Davos asked.

"My lady. She was mistaken. As I said, we were expecting Freys."

The boy entered, saying, "My lord, you've a raven. From King's Landing."


	10. Little Fool

_Sansa_

There was talk among the ladies that night. Though Selyse and Shireen had not originally ushered themselves away from the scene, they found they would rather be in Sansa's company than in a crowded room full of stinking men and what spelled like a corpse. It unnerved Shireen, the way the cloaked woman's white hair fell from underneath her hood. White, brittle and long…

Shireen knocked on Sansa's door, and listened for when the girl unbarred it. No longer would Sansa take chances, they all knew as she opened the door and it swung open with a breeze. It was only a glimmer of light in the eye, but Shireen saw the blade in her hand before she threw it somewhere behind her. "Lady Shireen, Lady Selyse," she said, and she smiled as best she knew how, and let them in. "There's a horde of men out there," Shireen said. "I think one war is coming north. Or, might be coming south."

"Try not to be so fantastical, Shireen, it's only a part looking for Frey men," Selyse replied, wrapping an arm around her daughter's back as they sat on Sansa and Davos' bed. Sansa barred the door once more. "I do not trust them," she said, pulling a chair from a small table against the wall. "I have not seen them and I simply cannot."

Selyse was feeling the covers on the bed; she leaned back and fell against the featherbed. "Has the lady discussed with you the import of children, Lady Sansa?" she said. Her eyes followed the floor to Sansa's form in the dimly lit room. "Yes, my lady, many times."

"I only ask because once the change happens, you can bear no children."

"The change?" Sansa echoed, pouring three cups of wine from a bronze flagon. Across the room, there was one tall, thin rectangular window that allowed one to see the entire yard and the trees beyond. Yellow flames from the long ground torches flared up, angry. "You fully understand why you are here?" Selyse said.

Shireen looked up from her toes. "Do you mind if I light more candles? I would like to take a look at the bookcase." Sansa nodded to her, but it was Selyse that she addressed. "The north will be in Davos' hold," she said. "Winterfell will be the seat of House Seaworth."

Selyse hadn't meant to smile, really. Occasionally, she forgot that most were not privy to the plots and schemes of the Red Woman and the Lord of Light. The room lightened as Shireen lit three candles, placing two on a scribe's table for later use, and taking the largest to the books. "Be careful not to burn yourself, my girl," Selyse told her.

Clearing her throat, Selyse's gaze hardened on Sansa's gentle stare. "I know Melisandre must have mentioned it. If she has not, look upon her face. She is getting older by the day."

"I am aware of this, but if you wonder if I have considered what this means in relation to me, I have not. I have not the capacity to wonder if I am a pawn anymore."

"Until you are old and crippled, you will always be something. A pawn, a queen, whatever else there is. Forgive me, I am not well aware of such games, but there is one game I have learned all about; it is the game of thrones."

"If one king can look upon his people and consider them _people_ as opposed to a work force, as gnats, then he should be king. There is no game there."

"There is not?" Selyse had let her tone slip only by accident. "Excuse me, my lady. I know I should not take quarrel with you in your own halls. I am only trying to say that your view is innocent if not totally unwarranted."

"Then what should I believe?"

"You should believe that when in power, death is around every corner; whatever you have, many will be willing to wretch it from your cool dead hands."

"That's the way it has always been and will be until a new system is found. Then, all of this will be simply reduced to child games."

"Perhaps. Perhaps it will never change. That is why _you_ must change."

"You keep talking about a change, but I am afraid I know not your meaning."

"Long story short, Sansa, you are here because Melisandre saw your pain. She saw the heart of a girl whom needed her spirits calmed before the storm – the storm being the end. Life on this world is short as it is painful, but you were one that could not go out with a whimper. On the honor your heart has as a Stark, as a Tully, as a sweet girl who had no idea the terrors that lay ahead of you – you deserved a bang, not… Not a whimper." Selyse cleared her throat and grabbed for one of the wine cups. She drank deeply, and then her eyes met Sansa's once more.

"Yes, Davos will have the north. Yes, it will anger the last Lord Bolton just enough for him to declare his own selfish war. The day is coming soon that our own wars – the ones we have with ourselves in the early morning light – they will become irrelevant. The Others will overtake the wall, and south they will come bearing the gifts of death and servitude. Snow will cover the land, but the good will prevail – we will prevail."

"How do you know we will, my lady?"

"My god will preserve us. He is bigger than us, and he defeated the dark cold before. He will again. If ever you see anything at all, I know you will see that."

"You do not know anything, Selyse. I can smell the crazy wafting off you."

"Just you believe that when you change."

Sansa took a gulp of her wine. There was something in her lady's tone that pulled at her heart strings. "I understand that I am out of the loop; someone could limit it to my being locked in a dungeon for the better half of my pivotal youth." Selyse relaxed and sighed. "I only wish that you know that some things are bigger and more terrible than you. No one ever says, 'It's going to be a long and awful ride.' They let you figure that out on your own."

"Well, I suppose I can give you my thanks."

"Oh, no, none needed. While some things _will_ be terrible, the good is not cancelled out by it."

"I know."

"What was the last good day you had, my lady?"

"It was recent. I would not sleep and my husband, bless his old soft heart, he took me around the island. Then the sun rose and it rained."

"Do you love him?"

"I… That is a little difficult. There are so many reasons why I should not; he is not the man I thought I would marry, or thought I would enjoy being married to. I only hope he will continue to enjoy being married to me once I have taken Melisandre's place."

"Lord Davos does not need to know. Not knowing would not kill a man so good as him."

Sansa bleated a laugh. "How can he not know? His eyes are old but sharp, and while he is not incredibly clever, he can put two together."

"No one but Stannis and I need to know, truthfully. Since you are not being trained the same as Lady Melisandre, I doubt the same rules and laws apply to you."

"I do not understand." And she didn't. As clever as Sansa was, she was none too observant.

"I mean you will hardly need to carry the same air was the Red Priestess. It will be easier to pass off because you are from this land; you know what is and is not acceptable by our society's standards. You can dwell in the dark of night, doing your Lord's work, and sway during the day throughout court, warm and happy as any lady could."

"Fine, fine. I suppose so. I do not know for certain. Anyway, when do you leave for Eastwatch?"

"As soon as Stannis wakes, my lady. Davos will follow shortly after."


End file.
